


I Remember

by Minxie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, KINK: amnesia!Harry, KINK: horcrux!Harry, M/M, Post-War, REPOST (2007)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter really was the last Horcrux.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Jadzia7667

“I’m off to pick Harry up, Ron,” Hermione said as she twirled her cloak around her and into place across her shoulders. “Please make sure everyone knows not to rush him when we step through.”

Ron paced the small living room nervously. “Are they sure he’s ready for this, Hermione? I mean, he just now remembered who we are,” he threw his arms out, gesturing wildly between the two of them. “Is he really ready for the rest of the family?”

“It’s been months, Ron,” she replied softly. “They didn’t expect him to ever actually remember any of us. The healers are hoping that being back at the Burrow will trigger more of these memory flashes. At least we know the memories he has here are happy ones.”

Ron’s brow pinched together as another wave of worry engulfed him. “I just don’t want to lose the little bit we’ve gotten back.”

Hermione reached out and wrapped her arms around her husband. “I know,” she whispered, “I miss him too. But we’ll do this, Ronald Weasley, because it just may bring even more of him back to us.”

He stood staring at the green flames as his wife stepped through the Floo, a dreadful rock of unease filling his stomach. Moments later and much too soon for Hermione to have signed Harry out, the fires rose again. “Ron, Ron,” Hermione called frantically from the Floo, “he’s gone. Harry’s not here.”

“Move back,” he growled, the knot in his stomach growing exponentially as he stepped into the fire, calling out, “St. Mungo’s, Fourth Floor.”

Ignoring the soot clinging to his robes and shoes, Ron rushed to the desk where Hermione was arguing with the mediwitch. “Where is Harry?”

Both women stopped mid-sentence and looked at the enraged redhead bearing down on the information desk. “As I have tried explaining to Mrs. Weasley here, Mr. Potter’s indicator,” she motioned to the board blinking with dots and names, “had him listed as gone when I arrived. I’d assumed that one of you had simply arrived early. We have called the night staff back in. Hopefully once they arrive we will know more.”

Ron snorted and glared at the healer. “I cannot believe that you all lost him.”

“Mr. Weasley,” she snapped defensively, “Harry Potter is a grown man…”

Hermione bristled at the implications. “Harry Potter,” she interrupted snidely, “is a man who knowingly gave up every memory of his life to save the wizarding world from Voldemort.” She rolled her eyes as the woman shivered at the Dark Lord’s name. “One would think that he would garner just a bit more interest and supervision from you all considering that fact.”

Turning on her heel, Hermione moved to her silent husband. “I know that look, Ron,” she said, one hand wrapping tightly around his arm. “What are you thinking?”

“Where did Harry remember us at? It was that first time we all were in the same room, right? It was from that stupid picture in the newspaper, yeah?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, on the Express before first year started.”

“Then we should start at King’s Cross,” he said as he headed to the lifts. Tossing a look back to the mediwitch, he said, “We’re going to find him. But make no mistake about it, I will be back to deal with you lot properly.”

The doors to the lift shut just as the woman screeched, “Well, I never…”

 

 

 

Harry stood outside the rusted gates, both hanging at precarious angles, and looked towards the large castle looming in the distance. He knew this place. He didn’t know the name of it or how he got there or even when he’d seen it last. But the flashes of memories of the stone building and the surrounding land came far too often now. This place, the overgrown land and ancient castle, had to have been an important place in his life.

He stepped forward, making to pass through the gates, when another memory claimed his present mind. He bent double and gasped as the pain lanced through his head again. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on everything he was seeing.

_Two men, both blond. The older carrying the younger. The older was covered in blood and dirt, his once pristine clothing hanging limp and torn, cuffs crusted dark with substances unknown; the younger was unconscious, covered in a multitude of bruises and wounds on his pointed face- his nose, his lip, a cut above his eyes- still oozing deep red blood._

_“Hello Madam,” the older man whispered to a stern looking witch. “I am seeking sanctuary for me and my son. For your protection and medical attentions I wish to offer our allegiance in battle as well as all information we have pertaining to the Dark Lord, no matter how useless some of it may seem.”_

_“Are you willing to take an oath with those conditions?”_

_“Of course.”_

The memory faded and Harry took a deep breath. He had to find out who these people were, what this place was, and, most importantly, just what the hell had happened to him in the past. The memories were turning away from the childish games he’d remembered with Ron and Hermione; instead they were horrific visions of war and murder, scenes too grisly to be anything but true.

Blinking rapidly, Harry made his way to the lake’s edge on shaky legs. He perched on a rock overlooking the water as he regained control over his elevated pulse. “Calm down,” he said aloud, repeating the words his counselor had muttered after the memories had started retuning. “These are memories. You’ve lived through them once already so there is nothing else to do for it now.” 

“Talking to yourself now, Harry?” he asked with a snort of ill concealed humor. “Perhaps St. Mungo’s is where you need to be.”

He looked around and wondered if he would ever remember all that was missing. Did he used to swim in this lake? Had he ever run across these grounds with something other than fear driving him, chasing at his heels like a rabid dog? Had he ever come here before to sit and think or maybe…

_He was skipping rocks across the water, the full moon hanging bright in the black of the night sky. Harry turned as he heard the footsteps approaching. “Malfoy,” he said in greeting._

_“Potter.” The blond head tilted in acknowledgement._

_Harry tossed a few more rocks out, both seemingly comfortable in the silence. Finally he gave the boy a questioning look. “Why did your father come to us? I need to know… to understand what happened.”_

_Malfoy sighed, a great whoosh of air that was almost deafening in the moment. “ **He** killed my mother because I failed at his task.”_

Even without knowing just who **he** was, Harry knew that that one sentence had explained it all. With gut wrenching frustration, he hollered, “Who were you, you evil bastard?”

He waited only seconds, his voice echoing across the water, before he pushed to his feet and started over the dirt path to the castle steps. Harry stopped a few feet from the foot of the entrance stairs and focused his gaze on the main reason he was here, the image he’d magically followed to find this place. The crumbling walls still bore the black scorch marks of war; the large oak doors stood open, ominously inviting him inside. “Are you going to give me the answers?”

He felt silly as he stood there, waiting for some sort of sign that the high walls had heard him, that it could give him what he was seeking. “It’s a building, Harry, not a person. It isn’t alive.”

With a roll of his eyes, he took the stairs at a fast clip, afraid that if he took his time he would chicken out, that he would turn around and find somewhere else to run to. Harry slipped between the doors and looked around. The floor was littered with dirt and debris. Frames and canvases, old texts and single pieces of parchment. Candy wrappers and empty goblets. Harry fell to his knees, oblivious to the clutter on the floor, as his mind was overcome with too many snippets of his past.

_He was young and small and the staircases were moving, proving the four walls had really once been a sentient being._

_He raced up the stairs with a broom in his hand, smiling as if he’d just been given the keys to the world._

_Hermione was standing at the top of the stairs, her hair up off her neck, looking beautiful in a ball gown._

_Malfoy was sneering at him; he was snarling in return._

Finally his brain settled on one memory, something specific. Something more recent, and once again tied to the war he couldn’t recall fighting in.

_”It’s Malfoy, Harry,” Ron whined. “I don’t care what kind of oath he took. We **can’t** trust him.”_

_“Leave off, Ron,” Harry snapped. “You have no idea what brought them here.”_

_“It doesn’t matter. He’s a git and a Death Eater,” Ron’s ears flamed as red as his hair, “just like his father. I wouldn’t be surprised if his mother isn’t one too. I mean, where is she? With You Know Who, I’m telling you.”_

_“His mother is dead.” Harry glared at his friend, “Voldemort killed her.”_

“Voldemort,” Harry repeated the name, his head cradled in his hands. “Voldemort.” He pushed unsteadily to his feet, vomiting as he tried to right himself too quickly and the disorientation of the memory made him weak and dizzy. As soon as his stomach was empty, he fled back out the doors and into the bright light of day, racing down the path, stumbling over rocks and holes. He ran through the gates, out of this nightmarish hell, and didn’t stop until he found himself at the edge of a small village.

“This was a bad idea, Harry,” he chastised himself, panting heavily as he leaned against a tree. “You should have never come here alone, you idiot.”

 

 

 

Lucius crumbled the piece of parchment in his hands. He reached out and grabbed the first thing his fingers could wrap around. The delicate wine glass shattered into a million pieces as it hit the wall. “Timmons,” he shouted, murmuring under his breath about the incompetence of England’s biggest wizarding hospital.

The small elf popped into the room a good, safe distance away from the agitated Lord of the manor. “Master called Timmons?”

“You are to go to St. Mungo’s and question the house elves that work on the Fourth Floor. I want to know everything they can tell you about Harry Potter,” he ordered. “Should you return here with out all possible information, including precisely when Harry Potter left the hospital, you will find yourself in possession of a full set of traveling clothes. Have I made myself clear?”

The creature nodded, his eyes large and watery at the prospect of being summarily dismissed. “Timmons will do this, Sir. Timmons will stay until he finds out.”

Lucius waved the elf away, waiting until he felt the wards shift as Timmons left Malfoy manor. He looked back to the parchment in his hands. **Mr. Potter is out on his own. Current location unknown.**

Lucius’ lip curled in disgust. “Surely,” he said into the quiet room, “they did not simply allow him to walk out the front door.”

 

 

 

Harry cautiously walked down the main street of the war torn village. He peered into the empty shop windows; images accompanied every store, it seemed. Yet there were no people to be found. 

_He sat with Ron and Hermione in the Three Broomsticks; laughing, plotting, planning over drinks and a meal._

_There was a meeting in the Hogs Head, him standing at the front of the room and a sea of faces, all of them his own age, stared back at him._

None of them brought him back to his knees; most simply filled him with a feeling of warmth, of belonging, of returning finally to where he belonged.

_Cho crying in Madame Puddifoot’s._

“What a disaster that was,” Harry said as his lips curved slightly with the recollection. He turned and started his way back up the dusty street. Peering down the side streets, looking at the rows of houses with overgrown yards lining the dirt paths, he murmured, “Where is everyone? Where could they all have gotten to?”

His feet led him to Honeydukes, the one storefront he had managed to avoid on his first pass through the little village. He stood in the middle of the road and looked up at the building. He catalogued the shattered panes of glass, the door that had literally been blown off its hinges, and the stock, the candy, that littered the dusty floor. Right before he slipped into another uncontrolled flashback, he said, “What the hell… the place looks like a bomb went off.”

_“Duck, Harry!” Hermione screamed the warning as curses flew all around him._

_Harry didn’t even look about; he simply dropped and rolled just in time to miss the beam of green light._

_Unfortunately the girl behind him, red hair flying about, didn’t._

_“Ginny!” Harry crumbled to his knees next to the girl and wept._

“Oh my God,” Harry said as he retrieved more and more of his life with Ginny. He started to shake wildly; his teeth chattered against each other while his face broke out in a cold sweat. His shock and the exhaustion sent him back to that day- the day Ginny had died and he ran from Hogsmeade on Hermione’s order.

_“Now, Harry,” Hermione said as more hexes flew around them. “You have to go now. Come on,” she grabbed his hand and yanked him into the store, “Go through the tunnel back to Hogwarts. We’ll meet up in the Great Hall.”_

Harry swiped at the tears coursing down his cheeks. Lost between the present and the past, he ran down the rickety stairs to the cellar to the still opened hatch in the floor. “Hogwarts, safe at Hogwarts,” Harry repeated as he took the first steps into the secret passageway.

 

 

 

Ron walked the length of the Platform 9¾ mumbling under his breath. “Come on, Harry,” he said yet again, “where did you get off to?”

“Well he’s obviously not here, Ron,” Hermione replied. “Where else has he mentioned remembering?” She glared and answered her own question when Ron offered nothing but more undecipherable muttering. “Diagon, the Leaky,” she snapped. “Do you think he might be there? Ron? Ronald Weasley!”

Ron shook his head and focused on her. “What? Diagon, you said? Maybe.” He looked back at the tracks. “Do they still run that remembrance train up to the battle field?”

“You think he got on the train? How, Ron?” Hermione sounded exasperated and tired and annoyed but mostly she sounded worried and scared. “He left the hospital in pyjamas marked for the spell damage ward with no money. How in the world do you think he got a ticket to Hogwarts?”

Ron shrugged but didn’t back down from the idea. “It’s just a feeling, Hermione. I think he went back to the castle.”

“You think he went to Hogwarts? Why? Has he even mentioned the castle?”

Ron simply shrugged again and waited for Hermione to decide their next move. With a sigh, she checked her watch and said, “If that’s what he did, we still have a few hours before he’d arrive. Time enough for us to check the other places he’s remembered.”

Ron looked skeptical. “And if we don’t find him there we’ll go to Hogwarts, right?”

“He’s not at Hogwarts, Ron. He doesn’t even remember it exists,” she said then corrected herself, seeing the hurt look on Ron’s face. “Yes, dear. If we don’t find him, we’ll go to Hogsmeade and meet the train.”

Ron offered a small smile in forgiveness and, with a hand at her waist, said, “Lead the way, love.”

 

 

 

The heavy statue of the humped-back witch grated against the floor as Harry slowly pushed it open. His eyes darted around the empty corridor before he slipped out and slunk along the shadows. He could still hear Hermione’s voice in his head. _We’ll meet in the Great Hall, Harry. Run back, go straight to the Great Hall._

Harry moved easily through the destruction, stepping over the twisted suits of armor and around the wood and pieces of crumbling wall as he moved through the halls of Hogwarts. Harry pushed one of the large doors to the Great Hall open and slipped inside, stumbling to the nearest table as more bits and pieces of his life tumbled through his head.

_“Welcome to Hogwarts. I am Headmaster Dumbledore,” the old man with the long white beard said._

_“Our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Remus Lupin.”_

_“Cedric Diggory was killed by Voldemort.”_

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and then blinked them open, inadvertently breaking the onslaught of memories. He looked around. Books and parchment covered the tabletops. The House flags still swung from the rafters; they all showed the damages of war with raveling edges and singed linings. The ceiling was no longer the great mural of the sky, not like Harry had seen in the memories. “The magic is gone,” he whispered. “How can the magic be gone?”

He reached out and snagged a book, dragged the cracking leather-bound parchment to him. Harry picked the book up, opening it to the title page. His eyes rolled back as the words sent his world blurring again. **Finding Eternity: The Making and Destroying of Horcruxes**.

_Harry paced between the two long benches. “We have to find the last Horcrux,” he said. “There is no way to kill Voldemort as long as even one remains.”_

_“Have you asked Mr. Malfoy?” Hermione asked._

_“No, Lucius has been in too many Order meetings for me to ask him much at all,” Harry sighed. “I need to find time to do that.”_

_“Do what, Harry?” The man in question was standing in the open doorway. “Are you three once again planning something reckless?”_

_“No, sir,” Hermione replied easily. “We’re trying to figure out what the last Horcrux is.”_

_Lucius’ eyes widened fractionally. “They have not told you?”_

_“Told me what, Lucius?” A feeling of dread filled Harry, starting as a knot in his stomach and radiating outward as he waited for the answer._

_“You,” Lucius whispered, “you’re the last Horcrux.”_

Harry scooted along the floor until his back collided with the corner of two rock walls. He drew his knees up and curled in on himself. “No, no, no,” he said, “not me, not a Horcrux.”

_“Find anything, Hermione?” Harry asked as he tossed his rucksack to the table._

_She gnawed at her lip and finally sighed. “Yes, but it’s not a good one, Harry. It has too many uncontrollable variables and possible outcomes,” silently she used her eyes to plead with him, “Let me keep looking, okay?”_

_Harry shook his head. “We don’t have time for that. Tell me your problem with the spell.”_

_“It could kill you,” she said immediately._

_“Hermione, Voldemort could kill me. Next?”_

_“If,” she stopped and then started again, “once the spell is cast, it reacts immediately. You will lose all your memories from the moment you were cursed up until the Horcrux is removed by purification.”_

_Harry put his glasses on the table and rubbed his hands over his face and up through his hair. “Everything?”_

_“Everything,” she confirmed._

_“No way to do something ahead of time to stop that side effect?”_

_“No.”_

_“Will they come back? Eventually, after enough time passes?”_

_“No one knows, Harry,” Hermione said softly. “The only documented time this spell was cast, the vessel for the Horcrux died.”_

Harry shut down and slipped into unconsciousness. 

 

 

 

Lucius sat brooding behind his desk; his fingers wrapped tightly around a glass of scotch, he waited for his house elf to return with some type of information. A wave of magic, the house alerting him to Timmons return had him jerking his head around to the large grandfather clock. Four hours. Four hours plus however long Harry was gone before the buffoons at the hospital noticed.

Timmons arrived in the study and immediately began reporting his findings. “Harry Potter be leaving after the breakfast, Master. His elf Millie finally told that Harry Potter be talking to the empty room, asking about a blond man,” Lucius cocked an eyebrow at that unexpected bit of information but did nothing to interrupt the still rambling elf, “and he be asking about a castle. A castle he said was full with the magic.”

Lucius grabbed a ring off his desk, slipping it onto his right hand, and finally pushed away from the desk. “Theys be saying that Harry Potter not be telling the doctors everyth…” Timmons’ words trailed off when he heard Lucius’ crack of Apparation, surprised that his Master had not stayed to hear the rest of his report; Lucius Malfoy never went anywhere without being fully prepared.

 

 

 

“We’ve been over Diagon and Knockturn twice, Hermione,” Ron finally said as he checked his watch again. “Look, the train will be pulling into Hogsmeade within the half-hour. We need to go, Hermione.”

“Ron, he’s not at Hogwarts.”

Ron’s eyes flashed hard then settled back into their normal warm blue. “I don’t care if you believe me or not, Hermione,” he snapped, “but I am going to Hogwarts. Now.” He moved towards the Apparation point and looked back at his wife, standing in the same place he’d left her. “You can either come with me or you can stay here until Merlin himself returns.”

He held her gaze, brown eyes warring with his blue, and then without another word, Ron Apparated out of sight. He reappeared at the gates of Hogwarts, shocked when Hermione’s crack of arrival was only seconds behind his. “You came,” he stammered out.

“Of course I did,” she replied turning to go toward the train depot.

“Wrong way, Hermione,” Ron said, pointing towards their former school.

“Huh?” She turned and followed Ron’s arm. “Is that Lucius?”

The two started to jog up the path. “Mr. Malfoy,” Hermione called out as they got closer. “Mr. Malfoy, have you found something about Harry?”

Lucius stopped and sneered. “I was alerted to Mr. Potter’s disappearance, no thanks to either of you. After a bit of researching, I believe that I will find him here.”

“Why didn’t you get in touch with us then?” she asked accusingly. “You knew we would be out looking for him.”

Lucius started moving closer to the castle again. “Perhaps, Mrs. Weasley, I was simply offering you the same consideration you showed to me.”

“He hasn’t mentioned you. The agreement was until each of us were mentioned,” she argued in defense of her actions.

“Ah, there you are wrong, Madame. He has,” Lucius wrinkled his nose as they stepped into Hogwarts entryway, “mentioned this castle and his involvement with a blond man. He simply has not mentioned them to his healers.”

Lucius motioned Ron and Hermione silent and pointed to the footprints showing in the layers of dust. They walked slowly to the Great Hall, sneaking a look around the open door. None of them wanted to startle Harry; none of them knew what his reaction would be. Lucius spotted the curl mass of limbs and wayward hair first.

Kneeling down, he felt for a pulse and released a relieved sigh. “He is alive.”

“He needs to go back to St. Mungo’s,” Hermione said as she made to step in front of Lucius.

“I think not,” Lucius drawled. “Mr. Potter will not be returning to that den of inept fools.”

“What are you saying, Malfoy?” Ron tried to bank his temper; if nothing else, he agreed with Malfoy’s assessment of the staff at St. Mungo’s.

“I have done this your way for far too long now,” Lucius snarled as he gathered Harry into his arms, cradling the smaller body next to his chest. “From this moment forward, we will do it my way. I will arrange a time for you to visit him tomorrow, at the manor.” He twisted the Malfoy crest ring on his right hand, activating the ancient Portkey, and blinked out of sight.

 

 

 

Harry woke with a start. There was someone pressed against his back; an arm was thrown over his waist, effectively pinning him to the bed. He closed his eyes tighter and struggled to control his breathing. As his heart rate dropped again, Harry slowly opened his eyes. He definitely was not in St. Mungo’s. If the down-filled mattress hadn’t given it away, the silk sheets and the curtain of long blond hair covering his cheek did. 

Harry lightly grasped a few strands and rolled them between his fingers. “Still so soft.” The words were whispered low, nowhere near enough to wake the sleeping man. Harry let his eyes fall shut again, capitulating to the oncoming flashback without a fight.

_“Longbottom,” Lucius barked, “when the vase comes towards you, use your transfiguration skills to change it. Understood?” He waited for Neville’s nod before levitating the old piece of ceramic into the air. Lucius sent the vase hurtling towards Neville and stood back against the wall._

_Neville raised his wand and started firing off curses at the moving object, all of them missing their mark and filling the classroom with magic. Finally one of the attempts connected, but instead of changing the vase into something non-threatening, Neville sent the vase sailing in a different direction. Straight at Harry’s head._

_“Harry,” Lucius shouted as he dove to push Harry out of the way, both men tumbling to the ground and rolling once._

_They came to rest with Lucius’ body covering Harry’s, his hair surrounding their faces like a golden blanket. Lucius’ gaze held Harry’s, neither speaking a word, neither moving to get up. Slowly Lucius let his head drop down until his lips hovered just over Harry’s. “Yes,” Harry whispered just before Lucius’ mouth closed over his in their first kiss._

Harry smiled at the memory and willed more of them to come. His mouth silently repeated his lover’s name like a mantra, a spell devised to pull the memories closer and bring them to the surface. “Lucius. Lucius.”

_“If you keep staring at me like that I’m going to have to kiss you, you know?” One pale eyebrow arched as Lucius asked the question._

_“How do you know that isn’t my plan?” Harry retorted._

_“In the library, Mr. Potter?” The smirk appeared with the words, smug and sexy and oh so Lucius Malfoy. “I really didn’t take you for the kinky sort.”_

_Harry waved his wand, the Obscuring spell hiding them in plain sight. “Then I guess I’ll just have to show you, now won’t I?” he asked. He rucked his robe up, revealing the lack of any other clothing, and straddled Lucius’ lap._

_Long pale fingers traveled over the bare thigh and squeezed Harry’s naked arse. “My, my, Harry,” he purred as he leaned in for a kiss, “it seems I have a lot to learn.”_

Harry opened his eyes and ran a finger over the arm holding him so tightly. The creamy white skin was marred only by the gnarled remnants of the Death Eater mark Lucius had worn for years. Harry traced the edges of the skull and snake and, for the first time since he’d woken in St. Mungo’s, Harry claimed the specific experience he wanted to recall and fairly laughed as the image came dancing through his mind’s eye.

_They barely made it to Lucius’ quarters before the man was asking, “You trust me?” Lucius looked absolutely flabbergasted._

_“Of course,” Harry replied, sincerity shining in his green eyes. “Why wouldn’t I?”_

_Lucius unbuttoned his cuff, rolled the sleeve of the dress shirt back and exposed the vivid mark on his arm. “Because I gave myself to this. I believed in it. Lived it. Killed for it.” Harry reached out, his finger tips barely skating Lucius’ flesh before the arm was jerked away. “How can you trust me?”_

_Harry knew words would never convince the man standing in front of him. Lucius Malfoy was harder on himself than anyone else ever could be. Stripping, transfiguring his socks into four velvet ties, he said, “Let me prove it to you. Tie me up, bind me as tight as you possibly can and then love me. Make me scream for you.”_

_“Harry,” Lucius said, his voice cracking with emotion. “You don’t know what you are offering.”_

_“You’re wrong,” Harry said with a smile. “I am giving tangible evidence of my unwavering belief in you.”_

Harry rolled over, pushing Lucius flat on his back, and settled atop of the older man. He ran his fingers over the chiseled features, the high aristocratic brow. His eyes filled with unshed tears as forced himself to remember the last time they’d made love, only hours before the final battle.

_“Please,” Harry whined as he approached Lucius, grabbing him by the robe front and turning until his back was pressed into the wall. “Give it to me, Lucius.” Harry reached out and popped the placket of Lucius’ trousers open, his hand snaking in and wrapping around the half-hard prick. “I want to walk out there smelling of you.”_

_“Harry,” Lucius said, “we will have a lifetime to make love to one another.”_

_“Maybe,” Harry agreed as he stroked the length to hardness, his free hand working the zip of his own trousers, “then again maybe not.” He kicked one leg free of his baggy denims and quickly wrapped his stripped leg around Lucius’ waist. “We both know the probability, Lucius. At best, I’m going to lose my entire past- you included. At worst…” Harry shrugged as the words trailed off; both of them already knew the ‘at worst’ scenario. At worst Harry Potter would die._

_Lucius hoisted Harry up, his hands spreading the globes of Harry’s arse, a single finger dipping into Harry’s stretched hole. “You’re prepared,” he said unnecessarily._

_“I knew what I wanted,” Harry replied, a hiss escaping as he settled onto Lucius’ cock, gravity working to pull him down the thick shaft._

_“And what was that,” Lucius asked, thrusting up into Harry’s heat, pushing Harry roughly against the wall._

_“To remember,” Harry said, “I want you to give me something to remember.”_

_Lucius ignored the way the button of his trousers dug into his hip and the hindrance of having his pants no lower than his thighs. He didn’t feel the bruises Harry’s shoes were leaving in his back. He simply gave Harry all that he could._

Less than an hour later, in the middle of the Great Hall, Lucius had cast the purification spell and cleansed Harry’s soul. As the bright purple light barreled towards Harry, he heard Lucius’ final words, _“I love you, Harry Potter.”_

“Harry?” Lucius’ voice was thick with sleep and emotion, his grey eyes suspiciously moist. He held his breath as he waited for a response.

Harry trailed a finger over Lucius’ cheek. He smiled as his tears fell and blended with Lucius’ before rolling back into the length of blond hair. Harry pressed their foreheads together and said, “I remember.”

_fini_


End file.
